Page 107 of The Reaping Rose

He hums, keeping pace beside me when we reach an empty stretch of the path.

“Did you travel your realm?” I ask.

“My realm. Others. I don’t think I’ve sat still my entire life. If I wasn’t training, I was meeting with other courts and realms. Always moving around from place to place. Always busy.”

“No wonder you’re so charming.”

“You think I’m charming?” He grins.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It’s as much an insult as a compliment.”

“A half compliment from you isn’t nothing. Next thing we know, you’ll be staring into my eyes and hoping I kiss you.”

“Try and kiss me, and you’ll find this between your lips instead.” I hold up my blade.

But Atlas chuckles, unthreatened. His fingers dig into his red hair. It’s somehow both thick and silky. Never staying in place. As wild as his purple eyes.

“Where did you get your eye color from?” I ask, frowning when he smiles wider. “And that wasn’t the start of a compliment. Call it morbid curiosity.”

After all, purple eyes are extremely rare. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade before meeting Atlas and his sister.

“My mother.” His smile turns slightly grim. “Hers were a shade between mine and Perame’s, or so I’ve been told.”

“You never met her?”

“She died giving birth to me and my sister. Pregnancy is difficult for the Fae, but twins…” He swallows hard.

“It’s unheard of.” I finish his sentence.

He nods, his gaze falling to the ground. I knew Atlas and Perame were siblings, but I didn’t realize they’re twins. It’s unusual for magic to split like that in the womb, even more unusual for the twins to have such opposite wielding abilities.

But it explains how Atlas’s fire wielding manifested in a way that allows him to manipulate minds. His sister is a searcher. She taps into the fates, which means he must have a flicker of a connection within them as well.

“I’m sorry you never knew her,” I offer, not sure what else to say but feeling like I understand him better now.

“My father keeps her alive through stories.” Atlas glances at me with an unreadable expression. “She was a seer—future sight.”

“My aunt has future sight,” I tell him. “A blessing and a curse.”

“In her case, I think the latter was more accurate. My father said she saw her death centuries before it happened.”

“It’s rare to see one’s own fate.” Even the most powerful seers are restricted when it comes to those they care about. It’s said the fates have ways of shielding the Fae from tampering with them, and that’s one of the ways.

“It might not be true. But she saw something.” Atlas reaches into the front of his shirt, tugging at a leather rope until the stone at the end pops free. A winding flame is carved into the flat stone. “My mother left this for me before she died. One for me and one for my sister. Perame’s has an eye on it, and mine is a flame.”

“She saw your magics before you were born? That’s extraordinary, even for a seer.”

“She did.” He tucks the necklace back beneath his tunic. “She left these for us, along with a letter to my father. She said that one side would represent our hearts and the other, our happiness.”

“Fire for your heart.” I glance at where the necklace now hides beneath his shirt. “What did she carve on the other side of yours?”

Atlas’s grin widens. “So curious about me today, Greer Maliren.”

“Stop calling me by my full name.” I bristle.

“Why? Like it too much?”

“No.” Yes.